


The Crimson Saint

by Caillieach



Series: ...And a Happy New Year! [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ardyn is curious, Don’t copy to another site, Gilgardyn if you squint, M/M, an alternative retelling of the legend of Santa Claus, curiosity killed the cat though, made to fit the world of Eos, no beta we die like men, no idea where this came from but it was fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caillieach/pseuds/Caillieach
Summary: And they called him Saint Fȳr...A different retelling of the legend of Santa Claus.
Relationships: Gilgamesh (Final Fantasy XV)/Ardyn Izunia (mentioned)
Series: ...And a Happy New Year! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580020
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	The Crimson Saint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDarkLordMegatron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkLordMegatron/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:**  
> 
> 
> _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, here: Square Enix. Any possible future original characters & plots are my own. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not earn money with this. _
> 
> * * *
> 
> Vex, this is for you. ♥ Merry Christmas, friend!
> 
> * * *

In Ardyn’s experience, legends and folklore are curious things. 

By the time they are eventually recorded and thus preserved for eternity - or as long as the paper lasts and someone bothers to copy them anew again, really - they have been inevitably warped and embellished from their original version due to being told around the campfire countless times and being passed on from one generation to the next.

The first time Ardyn hears the story of The Crimson Saint - or Saint Fȳr as he was first called - it is late autumn, nearly winter and he is travelling through the tiny villages deep in the ravines of Tenebrae healing the afflicted. He notices it being told around the campfire in more than one but he doesn’t think anything of it. It is just another of the silly stories people tell each other for entertainment or perhaps to banish the darkness of the night with great feats of compassion or heroism, so he doesn’t pay much attention to it.

It would be lost in time anyway, forgotten just like the people who tell it now will fade into obscurity and their stories with them.

However, the years pass and to Ardyn’s astonishment, what began as a diverting story in a handful of villages grows and gains momentum and becomes one of the most known and revered tales of his time. On one memorable occasion Gilgamesh, his loyal companion, even told the story to him in a quiet moment shared only between the two of them and asks him what Saint Fȳr would bring them who have everything they could wish for. Ardyn just laughs and distracts him.

Wherever he goes, the legend of Santa Fȳr seems to follow him. Such is its popularity and thus, inevitably, Ardyn’s curiosity grows.

What is so special about this legend anyway? A legend he knows came into existence as nothing more than a campfire story during his first travels? What is it that makes children’s eyes shine and adults smile in fond memories?

It is winter, nearly 2.000 years after Ardyn last walked the earth and only a few short months since he was found and freed by Verstael Besithia, when he passes through another tiny, snowy village deep in Niflheim’s territory and notices the name Santa Fȳr on everyone’s lips.

That name...how curious! Should this be the the same legend that was called Saint Fȳr back when he was alive and fully human?

Unable to leave his curiosity unsatisfied, Ardyn eventually stops under the eaves of a hut and listens to the excited chatter of the children playing in the snow for a while, their cheeks red with the cold. Curious despite himself, Ardyn tries his best to find out what he wants to know but alas, the little brats have no idea where that name came from or what it means. All they care about are the 'gifts' so Ardyn doesn’t learn more than that apparently, it is only a few more days until Santa Fȳr will ‘visit’. Ardyn frowns as he continues on his way, unsatisfied with the little information he gleaned from the children.

Perhaps….he stops in front of what looks like an assembly hall, eyes narrowed in thought.

If the children don’t know the story’s origins, perhaps the elderly will?

As it turns out, they do and seated in the smoky warmth of the hall with a merrily crackling fire in his back and a mug of mulled cider in his hand, Ardyn leans back and listens as a wispy old man begins to tell the tale:

* * *

_It had been an unusually cruel winter, the coldest since time immemorial and the people feared the Glacian's wrath. Food was scarce as was wood to keep their life-giving fires burning and survival was on everyone's mind in this long and dark winter._

_Many had starved or frozen to death in the unforgiving cold already, animal and human alike. And many more would before winter died and spring would revive the world anew._

_It was the morn of the 25th day of the 12th month, close to the longest day of the dark season and thus the beginning of a new cycle when excited voices interrupted the silence lying over the shepherd's village._

_Sometime during the night, a benevolent soul had left bags of nuts, dried fruits, meats and firewood in front of every door. Many people’s lives were saved as they could live off the gifts until the first shy tips of snowdrop blossoms broke through the snow and ended the Glacian’s rule._

_Thus was the mercy twice bestowed upon the shepherd’s village that it not only experienced a blessing in the decline of the scourge but in provisions as well in the course of one day and one night._

_Word travelled fast and soon, other villages told stories of how their inhabitants received the same plentiful gifts as well, always accompanied by the miraculous recovery of the afflicted by the Astral’s curse. Along these lines, soon the people began calling the mysterious benefactor Saint Fȳr as their compassion was reminiscent of Ifrit, the Pyreburner’s gift of fire to mankind so long ago._

_Some cycles would pass until the first mention of the Saint’s red coat was made as a small number of lucky souls saw a man, clad in crimson with hair as white as fresh snow visiting each house in every given village and left these very same gifts for its good people to find in the morn before slipping away._

_In the years that followed, many more villages were blessed by Saint Fȳr and his legend grew in leaps and bounds along with the common people’s reverence for him._

_Until he disappeared._

_Many a hopeful soul stayed awake in the night before the 25th day of the 12th month year after year but no trace could be found of The Crimson Saint and the people lost hope, fearing that evil had befallen their saviour._

_His legend lived on and the people waited for his reappearance still, but as is human nature, soon a few good men stood up and dressed in whatever red scraps of cloth they could find and left small gifts of goodwill on their neighbours doorsteps, keeping the spirit of charity alive for centuries._

* * *

Ardyn comes back to the present only slowly. Too vibrant are the memories of his past life in his head. He can see those poor tiny villages and the gaunt but welcoming people. The old man's tale took him right back to the time he spent weeks on end on horseback, trudging through the deep snow with Gilgamesh ever by his side his snow white hair nearly indistinguishable in the wintry landscape. So huge a contrast to his own fiery locks...

“Over time, the legend grew and many details were added. The original gifts are only rarely given nowadays as only the core of gifting remains of this tradition. The origins of the tale still remain known to this day, however, although Saint Fȳr’s name became Santa Fȳr sometime during the last decades.” 

The old man sighs, deeply lost in his thoughts. 

“Nevertheless, the red coat and silvery white hair remain and inspire great feelings of hope and compassion in people still…”

The old man trails off and gives no sign that he intends to continue his story and silence falls over their table. However, Ardyn has heard enough.

“Thank you, good sir, for this intriguing tale. I will leave you to your mulled cider and take my leave.” Ardyn stands and lifts his hat in farewell before he makes his way out of the village at a brisk pace, thoughts whirling.

Only a good mile outside the settlement does he stop and finally doubles over in unbelieving, wheezing laughter.

Oh, how amusing and how dimwitted these humans were!

It had taken only a few moments into the old man’s tale for Ardyn to figure out the legend’s origin. A decline of the scourge? Gifts of provisions to survive the long, hard winters?

Ardyn laughs until he cries.

Oh, these naively endearing people. 

Ardyn remembers the piercing cold of that winter 2.000 years ago. He remembers the sad little faces of too gaunt children and the hopeless expression in countless adults’ eyes, obviously starving. He remembers leaving what he could spare of his own provisions for the suffering people to find, aided by Gilgamesh, back when he had still been a good friend and more, when he hadn’t yet turned on him on his traitorous brother’s behest. Ardyn’s entourage had been well-provided for with everything he could possibly need during his travels as a member of the ruling house and as was his nature back then, he had gladly shared what he had.

A concept he has trouble to wrap his head around with two millennia of a festering rage growing inside him now.

It has perhaps never been as obvious to himself as today but Ardyn is no longer the man he once was.

How interesting that of all his deeds, it is this one that would stand the test of time, that everyone would know of him but not that it is _him_ at the same time. Instead, he is known and feared as the nameless evil, the Accursed, _Adagium_.

Such irony. It would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t so sad.

However, it is less this that prompts a new round of laughter than the fact that the ‘legend’ has been warped so much over the centuries that a smart arse proved that they weren’t so smart after all and somehow confused the rich crimson colour of Ardyn’s hair with his coat - not a mean feat, honestly! - and instead replaced his own fiery locks with the pale hair of _Gilgamesh_ of all people.

The nerve!

Ardyn ignores the brief flash of a memory of their hair intertwined on a pillow, the colours looking so pretty together as he does the twinge of where his heart once might have been.

The notion, the fact that all those people are worshipping _him_ keeps Ardyn entertained for a good long while on his way back to Besithia’s base and one that he can’t get out of his head. 

How refreshing to learn that after all these years, after all the torture he suffered, he was revered all this time and yet condemned to this accursed existence all the same. The Astrals sure liked to walk all over him time and again.

Was this their newest scheme to smite him down, break his spirit then?

Softly chortling to himself, Ardyn considers that it is perhaps time to revive the tradition, make his rounds in the night...and leave gifts of a different kind, just to amuse himself until the Chosen King deigns to finally be born and sounds the bell of the last act of this charade.

A darkly amused smile plays around Ardyn's lips as a larger town comes into view on the horizon just as the sun is beginning to set.

_'Happy Holidays~'_

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone, and a wonderful 2020! ♥


End file.
